Another Sad Reminder

Another sad reminder that we need to live every day to its fullest.  We can leave this lovely planet at any time whether it could be by illness, by accident or at the hands of a crazy fool in a movie theater.  The sadness of so many deaths and injuries in Colorado is difficult to bear for all of us.  My prayers to the families of the dead and injured but also for the hundreds of people at that movie who will never be the same.

Googling oneself

When my granddaughter Megan and I were looking on the internet, I decided to google myself.  There were posts showing that I was on facebook and that I played music here and there but the most interesting was a post from someone else commenting on one of my blogs.  I had written quite a long time ago about Idaho being my special place. Seems this person felt the same and she quoted me a few times on why it was so special. 
I was pleased to think that someone I don't know actually reads my blog.  I love that friends do but its surprising when a stranger reads what I write.  The part of me that wants to be a writer is over the moon about this!

Trying to Post

Finally I have figured out the new system and I think I can post my blogs. Yippee!

Planning a GOH

Once again I am planning a GOH (a Get Outta Here). During our June trip to Washington, D.C., we ran out of time to see a few of the places that were on our wish list. My oldest granddaughter, Megan, was excited to see Mount Vernon but when we got there, we did not have enough time to view the grounds and the mansion. She and Jim had a ticket for the Holocaust Museum and we had to rush back to D.C. I promised her that we'd get back there. A few weeks ago she reminded me of this promise so we picked a weekend that worked for her and we started planning.

This is the type of trip I love..the kind that lasts a few days but is full of adventure. I have been to Mount Vernon and Monticello in the past but I look forward to seeing them again and sharing the experience with a sixteen year old.

If all we are lucky, the leaves will be in full color as we drive through the mountains of Virginia.

Wish us luck!

Opening Day - 2011

The pulse of a high school marching band drew me to the window. The Findlay Market Opening Day Parade was underway so I grabbed my lunch and relocated to the conference room. From 14 stories up only the most graphic floats and banners were recognizable but the parade was fun to watch nonetheless. Even at my lofty perch, I could hear the cheers and clapping of the spectators as the military groups marched by. I love that we honor these men and women, no matter our political views. I t was a shame that the weather was so cold and my grandchildren could not be at the parade. Brody would have loved watching Lightening McQueen and “Mater, cruising in front of Mack, the 18 wheeler. I also could not collect the coveted candy from up here so I had nothing but observations to share with them later. I watched for my favorite part of the long and elaborate parade and soon I saw four pair of Clydesdales pulling a shiny red wagon south on Race Street. Even though I have never been enamored with horses, I love the massive horses that prance proudly with their hair done up and their feathers brushed. I fell in love with Clydesdales at a County Fair in Boise, Idaho. In the early morning before the rodeo ground events, we were permitted to visit the stables and watch the preparations for the horses’ performance. Grooms meticulously braided their manes and brushed their coats. Each stall had an engraved plaque with each horse’s name as they stood patiently, enjoying the attention. Dressed up and ready to go, they were hitched to the tall, shiny red wagon then preformed precision drills around the rodeo grounds. You could tell, even from the grandstands, that these horses loved what they were doing and did it well. If I ever am crazy enough to own another horse, it would have to be a draft horse. Oh, yes, and I would have to win the lottery just to afford the feed, the stable, the handler and the ranch. So don’t look forward to riding any percherons or Belgiums at my house in the near future. Sorry. But for now, I’ll just sit back and enjoy more of the parade before I turn on the ballgame to listen to the Red’s first win on this chilly, opening day.

Delta Queen Adventure - Part One

I kissed my husband just before 9 am and left for Tennessee. The sky was clearing so the drive promised to be rain and snow free. Traffic was surprisingly sparse and I made good time as I headed south.

After a couple of hours I arrived in the Renfro Valley for my first stop along my route. It had taken two hours to reach the Kentucky Music Hall of Fame. The parking lot was completely empty so I thought I had come on a bad day. However, when I got closer to the building a sign announced "We are Open!" I parked, headed in, paid my $7 then toured the small museum. It was very nice and had lovely displays which I had totally to myself. Ahhh, the benefits of traveling off season.

My favorite exhibits were of Jean Ritchie but I also got a kick out of the kilt owned by one of the Everly Brothers. There were instruments made by Homer Ledford and a quilt sewn by his lovely wife.

I bought a few postcards, a pin or two and even a guitar pick before heading back to my car for another leg of my trip to Chattanooga.

My Holiday

I’m taking a holiday. Just me, solo, by myself to somewhere I have wanted to visit for a very long time. Neither my husband nor grandson is interested in the location I have chosen. I will drive at my own pace, eat where I like, peruse stores and museums and even sleep-in if I choose.

I call this a holiday is because to me, the word vacation invokes stress. A holiday is a day from work, from commitments and from the same old same old everyday life. When most of us think of a “vacation” we begin planning, organizing, scheduling and compromising. Where does the family want or need to go? What do they want or need to bring? Where will they eat besides the golden arches and when. Who desperately needs a bathroom break even though we stopped ten minuets ago? Finally, arriving at the destination does not end the work that needs to be done, especially if the family is camping .

Now mind you, vacations are wonderful and enable us to have quality time with our family. However, some times we just want to relax and enjoy. That to me is a holiday

Sometimes we will go on a trip with friends and we humorously call that a “Get Outta Here.” Our van even has a license plate that reads “VANGOHS” announcing that this van is ready for some fun. There are times that being with a group makes the whole time more enjoyable. Many of my best trips have been just me and Jim or weekend trips with a friend or two. We try to make just the most necessary of plans and stay very flexible and open to opportunities. Our friend Tim coined the word “Planidippity” to describe this method of making a plan but including the serendipitous moments that come along.

While I do love vacations and GOH’s from time to time, I also love a day or two by myself… a holiday.

For my first “holiday” I am heading south to Chattanooga, Tennessee to spend a night on the historic Delta Queen Steamship.

I hope to post from the Queen.

2010

Another decade dissolved. It was an interesting one and I will ponder long and hard before I begin to write about its ups and downs. I will say that I am thankful for those years. Every day that the good Lord grants me is a blessing and I appreciate them all.

No real resolutions for 2011, just hopes. Hopes for good health, good friends, good music, good travels and good thoughts instead of bad. I will attempt to post more often and I will attempt to write as much as possible. No promises, just hopes.

I guess 2011 can be my decade of hope.

Veteran's Day Memorial

I was walking through the library at lunchtime a few weeks ago and as usual checked out the window boxes for the Veteran's Memorial. I excused myself as I stepped in front of a gentlemen who was standing close. As I finished checking out the memorabilia the gentlemen asked me a question, "Why did you stop?" I told him I stopped often because I had seen a photo of my Uncle Benny once and that I always find the display very touching. He asked me a few questions, took my picture and then in early November, he wrote this article.

Library memorial – By Cliff Radel for the Cincinnati Enquirer.

Last year, 1,408,323 patrons used the downtown public library – and, entered a war memorial. The entire building is dedicated to Hamilton County veterans who lost their lives in conflicts beginning with World War I.
Thirsty for knowledge, throngs of people pass by the Veterans Memorial display in the library’s lobby. Few stop.
Prudence Hunt visits at least once a week. “To me, this memorial is for all veterans,” the legal secretary from Fairfax said in hushed tones, “It is a place of remembrance and celebration.”
She always remembers her uncle and she celebrates the freedoms he fought for and lost his life defending. “He was the first soldier from Newport to be killed in the Korean War,” she said of her uncle, Benjamin Bristow. He was just 19.”
She looked at the Great Seal of the United States, dated “1954” and set in a brass circle on the floor. Her eyes followed the words inscribed on the seal’s rim:
“Dedicated to the many of Hamilton County who while in the armed forces gave life itself for God and country.”
She looked from the seal to an open book in one of the memorial’s display cases. That’s the book of homage. It lists the name of every Hamilton County veteran killed in combat since World War I. Every week, the case is opened and the page is turned. Another list of heroes appears.
Hunt read the names on the page in silence. They reminded her of her uncle.
“I have his uniform and the telegram my grandmother got from the government when he was killed,” she said. “I even have some of the records he made while he was over in Korea. They made those records instead of writing letters.”
The records made it home after his mother learned he had been killed.
“No one’s ever listened to those records,” Hunt said. The sound of her uncle’s voice was too painful for her grandmother to hear. After all of these years, the pain still lingers. Hunt can’t bear to listen to the records either.
“I’m going to give his things to the library,” Hunt said. “I don’t want them to die with me. I want them – and his memory – to live on.”

Sweeney Update

The Sweeneys will be playing at the Cincinnati Celtic Festival on Fountain Square on October 3, 2010. I am delighted to be playing and I don’t feel the least bit guilty for having booked us. We work hard and we love sharing our music. Plus, I booked us at no charge to the festival so it’s a win-win. Booking the others was fun….in the beginning. However, I now know why booking agents are paid. Its all the crazy questions, requests, and demands that we receive that make us second guess our efforts.

On a personal/band note, the band we call the Sweeneys is taking a hiatus after the Celtic Festival. Tim will be working on some solo projects and enjoying his new granddaughter. Peg & Jim & I will continue to play as Arabella until Tim's return. The difference in the groups has to do with the energy that Tim brings to the band. Arabella is softer and performs more ballads. Tim drives the Sweeneys in upbeat, fun music that makes us shake the stage as we all get into the songs.

Ladybug, Ladybug, Fly Away Home

My latest quilt, simply called “Ladybug” was sewn and quilted with the intention of donation. Tim Kelly's niece, Katie, put together an amazing charity to help Children’s Hospital in Cincinnati. Her son, Spencer, was born with a brain tumor and thanks to the amazing doctors at Children’s, he is a healthy, rambunctious toddler. Katie Kelly Shipley formed Spencer’s Army to raise funds to enable the hospital to help many more children. The least I could do was donate a quilt. I don’t have much money but I do have hands that can help.

Oh, My!

How can it possibly be more than a month since I posted a blog? I originally thought I would have at least 5 entries per week, if not more. Now my life is so busy that I can’t find time to write about it. I know its narcissistic to want to but that’s what it is. I love writing and blogs are fun. What more can I say?

College Essay #1

I finally was graded on my very first college essay. We were to write about an epiphany we have had in our lifetime. I submitted it almost a month ago and I've been a nervous wreck waiting to see my grade and read the professor's comments. He liked it and even said he was moved. Wow, I couldn't ask for better than that. I received an A!!!

As for the photos, I've added a few from the 54 times I have moved in 57 years. Actually for the past 18, I have lived in the same house so the first 53 were before I turned 40. The last one is from the condo overlooking the ocean from when I was "poor".

Misreading the Signs Along the Way

There had always been signs that we were poor, but as a happy child, I paid them no notice. We might have had less than what others had,but children were starving in faraway China and just down the road in Appalachia and we were not. My stepfather said poor was a term for people whose obstacles were insurmountable. He instilled in us the concept that we could be anything we set our minds to and no obstacle should stand in our way.

Because we moved often from apartment to apartment in the river city of Newport, it seemed only sensible that we did not have many material objects. Our basic possessions were well cared for and we owned them outright. We kept ourselves tidy and clean and most importantly, we had good manners and good ethics. All seven of us could squeeze into the cab of our pickup truck when the back with filled with furniture and household items. My grandparents and two of my aunts, who believed walking was more sensible, didn’t even own a car. Poor people couldn’t possibly afford such a usual vehicle.

I didn’t even notice the signs that others had more when I left the heat of the city to spend summers with my relatives in the country. To me they were only richer than we were because they did not move every year and at their house, I shared a bed with my cousins and didn’t have to sleep on the sofa like at home. For two lovely weeks in the summer we enjoyed a backyard with grass where we could run through sprinklers and play. Best of all, no one made us drink a full glass of water before each meal or mirror each forkful of food with a bite of bread. For family vacations, Lou would load us in the back of the pickup where we would ride on top of a bed of straw covered by blankets. We would travel to a state park where we strung up a lean-to between trees. Hotdogs on sticks were roasted over a campfire after a day of fishing and swimming in a nearby lake. Tom Sawyer would have envied our fun.

We did not even feel poor at Christmastime. To make holiday cash, our family would take the pickup truck to a nursery and my stepfather and my brothers would spend the day cutting fresh pines that we sold in empty lots downtown. With that money in hand, all five of us would tag along with Mother on Christmas Eve and shiver outside of stores as she bought presents. After shopping we would rush home to enjoy warm cocoa and cookies. We felt as rich as kings as we trimmed our own little tree with popcorn strings and ornaments made from tin foil.

We were not at all like the sad children that we saw on television with raggedy clothes and dirty faces. My mother bought me new five dresses at the end of the summer so I would have one for each day of school. The day before class began, we’d trek to Tom McCann’s for our new pair of shoes. Mother made us take good care of them so we would slip them off each afternoon when we came home. Bare feet were fine for running around the house.

Living quarters were always tight in our small apartments in the city but we managed to fit in whatever space we found. My four brothers always shared the second bedroom while I, with pillow and blanket, would stretch out on the sofa trying to sleep as my parents watched television. Most nights I was awake when the Al Schottlekotte Spotlight Report began at 11 p.m.

When I started high school we moved to yet another apartment with only two bedrooms but this time I had a place of my own. Actually it was just the end of the hallway but I was moving up in the world. Mother bought a twin bed mattress, hung up a curtain and at last I had a bedroom. Somehow still the signs of our poverty were not flashing in my mind. It was not until I was invited to the homes of classmates that those signs began to appear. My girlfriends lived in one-family houses with bedrooms of their own, adorned with pink bedspreads and lacy curtains. Their curtains were so fine, frilly and surely expensive that I was almost afraid to touch them. My own curtains were plastic and easily replaceable by a quick trip to the dollar store.

I was shocked to watch my friends just walk to the fridge and take out a pop or grab a snack from the pantry. At my house, we never had to think about what to eat. Dinner was whatever mother made so there was no need to stand with the refrigerator door wide open. We knew that our fridge held only milk, butter, and day old bread.

It was during my second year of high school that I began to heed the signs that we had so much less than others. I became self-conscious of our plastic curtains and plastic dishes. Unlike my friends, our pantry was never full and we bought our dinner groceries every day. Mother had to wait until Lou came home to send us to the store, hoping that he had made money that day. If not, she would send us to the market with one of her keepsake silver dollars. She had three of them, one dated 1884 representing her father’s birth year, 1898 for her mother and 1926 when she was born. My brothers would ask the storeowner if they could buy the silver dollars back on Friday when mother was paid. Thanks to his kindness her treasures were always returned with Friday’s groceries.

After my brothers were grown, I had to make the trip to the store often with the same request. On one such Friday, while waiting for the walk light, I looked up at our plastic curtains blowing out of an open window. The signs in my mind flashed more brightly than that traffic light saying, “You are poor”. “You are poor,” they shouted as I climbed the four flights of stairs with our dinner. “I am poor,” I moaned as I dropped the grocery bag on the kitchen table.

Having finished high school, with no hopes of college, I took the easy road to success and married a man with money. We lived in a condominium overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. He bought me a diamond ring and a car that was shiny and new and I had more than five dresses. We vacationed in Europe and skied in the Rockies. “Finally,” I thought to myself, “I am no longer poor.” However, the signs in my head only flashed more brightly. He had married me for my looks and I had married him to have what I thought were the right things. Neither of us was happy so the right things became the wrong things. I knew that I was now truly poor.

I left the possessions I foolishly believed would give me joy and once again had little. No matter. I still had good manners and slightly tarnished ethics, and still had the love of my family. I had never really been poor. The proper signs had always been there but I had listened with my head and not with my heart. As my stepfather had said, poor describes people whose obstacles are insurmountable. I, however, am rich.

Time to Find Time

I haven't been blogging lately. I've just been too busy. Sadly not all of it has been fun stuff and a bit of depression seemed to creep in. I need to write, it purges my soul and helps me deal with the good and the bad in the world.

Even though late July and early August have been rough, there have been some very good moments as well. The bus trip to Chicago was great and I had a little bit of quiet time to enjoy. I just walked around the city and skipped the museums and shopping meccas. I enjoy the diversity of neigbhorhoods and landscapes and took some great photos of the boats on the lake in early light.

I must find more time to write...I miss it.

A Hero's Farewell

I attended the funeral of a hero today. Spc. Russell Madden was the son of a friend. Russell's father, Marty, and my husband, Jim, both attended grade school together in Bellevue and after high school played in the same rock band for a few years. That's how I met Marty, when I started dating Jim and hanging around their band practices and gigs.

I never met Russell but by the way he was described in the media, he must have been much like his father . Marty was always the happy band member, joking with me and the other girlfriends and taking time to befriend my young daughters. For some reason I can't remember, they called him "Cupcake".

I was on my great detour when Russell was born but through the stories I have heard, he was an amazing man. He was a football hero, friend to many, father, husband and brave soldier.

It was touching to see the outpouring of support and love today. The military was clearly proud of their brother in arms and demonstrated profound respect. The roar of the motorcycles, ridden by the Patriot Guard Riders, moved the soul.

I am not Catholic and have only attended about a dozen Catholic funeral masses but the mass today, with 8 priests, a monsignor and a bishop was an honor to the character and commitment of Russell. Incense carried prayers to heaven as music and voices filled the air. Two young sons, dressed in camo fatigues, placed roses on their father's casket. God was present in that place.

Along the funeral procession to the St. Stephens, cars pulled to the side of the road, in respect. We passed strangers who stood with hands in salute and some with tears in their eyes.

At the cemetery, we cried with the Maddens. We cried at the folding of the flag, the presentation of flags to Russell's wife, father, mother and sons. We stood proud, some weeping as his fellow soldiers fired a 21 gun salute and a distant bugler played taps. We gave our condolences to Marty and his family but words seemed so meaningless at such a moment.

We were proud to be there. Proud to be in the company of our fallen hero, Russell Madden. But we were also proud to be in the company of all the men and women in uniform who were not only there to serve their fellow soldier but to serve us each day. We pray that they will not have to pay the same ultimate sacrifice, even though we know they would.

God Bless America and God Bless Russell Madden.

Simple Pleasures

Tonight I went to dinner with two friends, Carol and Jo, to celebrate their mutual birthday. We ate outside at a lovely restaurant near Hyde Park Square, an upscale community close to our homes. We shared a bottle of wine with dinner then strolled past the shops, window shopping as we headed for coffee. Once again we sat outside enjoying our coffee and desserts while we chatted for hours. It was the first day of summer and I will remember this solstice for quite awhile, knowing it will be among the best days of 2010.

Al & Tipper

I was so sad to hear that Al & Tipper Gore were separating. As many other people commented, they seemed like the perfect couple. I met them both in 1997 and they fit their descriptions to a tee. He was stiff and robotic and she was prettier in person and quite charming.

No one knows what can cause two people to grow apart but I hope for them, their children and grandchildren that they stay good friends nonetheless. It gives the rest of us hope, too.

The Gathering at the Breaks - Day One

Jim dropped me off at Roberta's house exactly at 7:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, April 25th. Mary Ann was already there and packed so we were on our way in just a few minutes. Following the google map, we drove on one of the skinniest mountain roads I've ever seen and decided that on our way home we would look for a wider route.

We pulled into The Breaks exactly at noon, gave hugs all around for old friends and began to make new ones. Not able to check in until 1:00 p.m., we started the gathering off with a meet and greet for an hour then drove up to the set of rooms that had been hand picked for our group. The views were breathtaking. I will have to warn that it would not be comfortable for anyone with a fear of heights!

In the afternoon we had a workshop on songwriting, a delicious dinner at the Lodge restaurant and then a "swarp", the Appalachian equivalent of our ceilidhes.

Summerfair 1974

My ex-husband, Chris, posted baby photos of Chandra for her 37th birthday.

I wanted to post this photo in particular as it shows one of the last Summerfairs at Eden Park. It was an awesome "hippie" event back in the day.

It is now an upstanding and respected arts festival but for us, in the 70's, it was a "Happening". You knew all of your friends would be there taking in the great rock music and being part of thousands of interesting people roaming about.

For Cincinnati, it was the original "party in the park".

Mimi Weekend

I spent the last weekend in February at my daughter's home, taking care of her four children while she and her husband had a well deserved trip out of town.

Nick came over with me and joined Megan, Chase and Brody in the media room to play endless hours of video games and watch movies while little Kalee and I worked on one of my quilts. She was very attentive and loved my colored threads. When we weren't sewing, we watched the skating review and Kalee spun around the room, putting her arms in the air like the skaters.

Being a grandmother is a gift, just plain and simple, its a gift from God.